Junkie 311.

JUNKIE 311 Edith Springer has been at the center of the street-level revolution known as harm reduction for more than 20 years. A former heroin addict herself, she was trained in Liverpool and Rotterdam by the founding fathers of the movement, and remembers the early days of the AIDS crisis, when needle exchange programs were illegal and arrests were common. Since then, she's helped build up New York's Harm Reduction Training Institute from scratch. Her colleague, Don McVinney, calls her the "heart and soul" of harm reduction in NYC.

At one of the institute's two-day seminars for new volunteers, Springer recalls her first visit to a shooting gallery for the purpose of social work, when she said, "Hi, I'm here to help you," only to be told to get the fuck out.

"The next time I went there," she says, "I started by asking if the dope was good."

Expect them to lie, she says. "They are right to do so, it is survival. Remember, you lied too when you used."

Harm reduction begins with the triple premise that drugs are here to stay, that most users won't stop and that users should be treated as human beings. Although still viewed with suspicion by all levels of government, AIDS and crack helped break down official prejudice. To cope with the overwhelming death toll and social mayhem of such plagues, you need front-line soldiers, says Springer. Who better than former junkies themselves? The government is only too happy to unload some of the burden.

Under the aegis of Springer's institute, every Saturday on 126th St. in East Harlem, a handful of former junkies sets up tents near a copping spot to provide clean needles, medical advice, acupuncture, counseling and coffee. Recently three fresh-faced medical students joined them to lecture on the pros and cons of current hepatitis C treatment—which has serious side effects and a success rate in the vicinity of 50 percent—and explain that alcohol is worse on the liver than opiates—but only if the user has access to clean product, a rarity on the street. Seven or eight obviously heavy users with ravaged features listened in rapt attention.

Next to them, a former addict in his fifties offered reiki, an Eastern method of transmitting energy by the placement of hands, and acupuncture. Grinning, he said that as a junkie he mastered a dozen ways to use needles, but since kicking has learned hundreds of ways.

Springer's institute is funded with a spattering of AIDS money from the city and a few private charities. When someone suggests a more reliable funding source, she laughs, saying in a raspy cigarette voice: "Find me a grant, baby, and I'll write it."